


damascus rose

by JeanSouth



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Mirror Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 21:13:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4850759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanSouth/pseuds/JeanSouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kise can smell the necromancer before he sees him, and what a sweet scent it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	damascus rose

**Author's Note:**

> for an anon prompt - go prompt me over at lieuw on tumblr, so i can do them in excrutiatingly slow fashion! I just noticed my autocorrect added in "Hiroshi" - dunno who he is!

Kise smelled him before he saw him. 

All necromancers carried the same sort of scent, myrrh, damask roses, and ashes. Underneath it he could smell mulled wine – though he could not smell if it was a gift from grateful locals, or something stolen when villagers were turned to draugr.

When the scent came closer, the soft, almost indistinct rattle of finger bones and bells only the dead could hear came with it. Kise could only hear the bronze bells, those reserved for the undead. The silver, the gold, reserved for the plainly dead and the spirits in turn. He didn’t think he wanted to fight a necromancer tonight.

“You don’t smell like you’ve been running around draining women,” the necromancer stood at the edge of Kise’s clearing, barely visible in the light cast from his fire pit. It was no matter; dark was as day to his eyes, and the fire served only to warn off demons arrogant enough to try to prey on a vampire. The necromancer had black, black hair that fell across one eye, and a pretty, if sly smile. He would have made a good vampire, had he chosen that path.

“I’m glad I don’t,” Kise yawned, stretched his body and its long, lean limbs out. Even if his supernatural beauty did not magically affect necromancers, he had every chance that it would on a purely physical plane. The stare, however, did not waver. “I have only taken a sip here and there, and my victims never fall unwilling into my arms.”

He cast back a hard look of his own. He had meant it; there was no flavour in fear, but the taste of pleasure would burst across his tongue. The necromancer hummed, left hand resting on his bells. If need be, he could summon the spirits no doubt laying in wait in the forest to turn them on Kise. The thought chilled him a bit; how did one fight something that wasn’t there?

“Come with me, then, and prove your innocence,” the tone the necromancer held was slightly hesitant, as if he doubted vampires could be truly innocent. Kise doubted it too, but he suspected it wouldn’t be a problem were the question phrased correctly. He had no doubts about where they were going, and only berated himself for not noticing such powerful mages in the surrounding lands.

He was near to certain as could be that in little over and hour’s ride, he would be staring down his own eyes in a magic mirror. Rumour held that it showed even a vampire its reflection, if that was what it truly wanted. On a more morbid note, it would show the soul of those its maker commanded it to. He has never seen a soul, but did not doubt it was an ugly thing.

Unfocused on the road, Kise chewed at his lower lip, bruising the skin to turn it a flush, dark pink. It made him look kissable, many a man had told him, and the habit had stuck when he was deep in though. Did he want to see himself? It had been nigh on a hundred years since he had last looked upon himself, and whilst lovers had described the features they loved best… it would be an altogether different thing to them watching him in return. 

“Lost in though?” the necromancer broke into the jumble of issues in his mind, and drew his attention. He was yet to know the man’s name. It seemed beyond rude to enter a home without knowing a name.

“Yes,” he bowed his head in apology. “Forgive me. I am Kise, for what it’s worth. And you…?”

He waited, expectant. Names held a great deal of power, for one had to know the name of something to bewitch it, but he had offered his first.

“Himuro,” he offered in turn, eventually, when a small keep came into view. It was shielded by one curtain in dark stone and had a small moat. The bridge was lowered despite the late hour, the gesture proving more than words that the area was safe, well-protected by its necromancer.

“A pleasure to meet you,” the words dripping from his tongue before he had even though of it, but he realized he had meant it. He wouldn’t mind to know closer a necromancer with such territory and the ability to keep it pure without turning dark from the amount of spirits likely clamouring for his soul.

“We’ll see if you still think that when you have seen the magic mirror,” Himuro shot back, though there was an undercurrent of amusement and relaxation in his voice. Clearly, he had grown to a similar line of thinking. His cloak found its was to an empty chair before he pulled cloth from a mirror that seemed to fall in no way short of the word opulent. It glass gleamed so brightly it almost hurt, and the carvings along the edges seemed to pure gold, more detailed than even reality seemed to be. “Step forward.”

He gestured, and Kise went. The space remained blank until Himuro murmured something; a spell of sorts, and it seemed he was the mirror’s maker after all. Instead of a black, twisted thing of a soul, only a golden-haired beauty stared back at Kise. Himself, he realized with a shock. He had not thought his hair so gold, his eyes so striking. He stepped closer and closer, reminding himself in a breathless inner voice to think of Narcissus; punished by nymphs for his transgressions with the ability to see his reflection echoed back to him until he had fallen so in love with it he had drowned to try to touch it.

Despite his inner warnings, Kise couldn’t stop looking. Had his arms always been so fine, so lightly muscled? He stripped away his cloak to let it pool on the floor by his boots. His tunic followed fast, allowing him his chest. To see fingers on it from such a distance sent ripples of confused sensation through him until paler hands joined his. There was no confusion in the sensation of seeing that; only a sharp shock of arousal he normally only felt when feeding on blood so pure it was almost angelic.

Himuro was beautiful, but together – together, they were even lovelier. He twined his fingers through Himuro's and nudged them where he wanted them; on his throat, where they curled around it and dug in, making him gasp for breath that was more a habit than a necessity.

Down his chest, where the hands in his made a stubborn choice and cupped his muscles, squeezing and rubbing until fingers hesitantly brushed his nipples, their touch strengthening when Kise moaned. It was a low, desire-laden sound that he had previously not thought himself capable of as he opened his eyes just the slightest bit, enough to see as the fingers pinched at his nipples and rolled them until they were stiff, begging for more and more attention than they were already getting.

It ripped a bereft sound from his voice as they were left alone, answered by a chuckle. Himuro had a lovely voice to go with his lovely face; no wonder it drew spirits with little difficulty.

“You’ll like the next part even more, I promise,” Himuro whispered to him, his soft lips brushing Kise’s ear before he nipped at it quickly, his eyes locked on Himuro’s through the magic mirror. Fabric rustled when Kise’s hose dropped, baring the most intimate parts of him. He stood hard and proud, near dripping with proof of his pure, unadulterated want.

“You’ll fuck me, yes?” he whispered back, unable to bring himself to speak louder for fear of shattering their moment. A hard cock ground against him, the perfect height to slip into him if only cloth were not a barrier to his pleasure. More fabric rustled for a moment, and the scent of Damascus rose grew overpowering and heady. His cock shined in the candlelight as it was suddenly slick with rose oils, leaving him to only cry out at the sensation. His body felt too hot, too sensitive as Himuro wrapped a hand around the head and seemed to lightly twist his hand back and forth, rubbing the sensitive head. 

It earned him a louder cry, a pleading noise as Kise jerked his hips back from the strong sensation and first inadvertently ground his ass into Himuro’s cock, then on purpose. He went as strong, slender hands pushed him forward until he rested on his hands and knees. This was much closer than the mirror, and his mind tore between staring at Himuro, his clothing having joined Kise’s on the floor, his cock hard and slick; ready to enter him if only he were ready.

His eyes flickered back to his own face just as fingers entered him first to test if he were ready. The contortions of pleasure, his suddenly half-lidded eyes and parted, flushed lips, dark where he had bitten them, indeed invited kisses, invited bites, invited a cock to rest upon his lips and enter.

“I’m ready, damn it!” he cursed, his elbows buckling at the sheer need that coursed through him. He needed Himuro now, to be joined together and see Himuro’s face as flushed as his own had been, that same pleasure and want coursing through him. He longed, desperately, to see the pleasure sliding inside him body would cause a man.

He wanted to see the slightly furrowed brow at the same time he saw his own ass in the air, a cock slowly disappearing inside it. He wanted to see- his thoughts stuttered to a halt as he got what he wanted, Himuro leaning forward to grip tightly at Kise’s hair, holding him so his eyes could not leaving the magic mirror and he slid in, slowly. The mirror tilted, its angle becoming more perfect to see where a cock entered him, breached him open, and his body swallowed it whole eagerly.

He managed a choked move, heart pounding in his chest, blood rushed to his head, making him dizzy and eager to feel as Himuro starting fucking him, his fingers digging in harder, his cock pounding in faster with each stroke he made, not uncaring of Kise’s pleasure but more aware that the sparks between them would bring him more pleasure than calculated moves could. That was for later, for next time, when he tied Kise to a rack and had his slow, wicked way for him and made him watch.

“Watch yourself when you come for me,” Himuro breathed out, a command as much as if he had etched it in blood and bells. “Watch yourself-” he moaned, breaking his sentence for a moment, the tight, hot heat of Kise distracting him “-and realize it’s me inside you making you feel this way-” he leaned forward, bracing his hands on either side of Kise, rutting like an animal lost control “-and come for me.”

Kise clamped down on Himuro’s cock as he came, his eyes flickering closed for only a second before opening again, following the command to see the pleasure sweeping his own face, and Himuro’s just as his own ended; the hot feeling of a man’s seed pouring inside him until they both slumped down and to the side, the mirror image fading to show only an empty room when its duty was complete.

“Am I declared innocent?” Kise breathed out eventually, ending on a laugh. “Or do you fuck most prisoners?”

Himuro seemed to bristle slightly, like a cat stroked wrong.

“I do not fuck all my prisoners,” he protested, dragging up his cloak for warmth. “Only the exceptionally pretty ones. And as for your innocence – I may have to keep you prisoner a while longer yet.”


End file.
